


Loser

by A Magiluna Stormwriter (ariestess)



Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation, CSI: NY
Genre: Bechdel Test Pass, Community: halfamoon, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-12
Updated: 2012-02-12
Packaged: 2017-10-31 01:32:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/338418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariestess/pseuds/A%20Magiluna%20Stormwriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Who the hell needs Linda Hamilton when I have this?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Loser

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Shatterpath](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shatterpath/gifts).



> Date Written: 12 February 2012  
> Word Count: 620  
> Written for: [](http://halfamoon.livejournal.com/profile)[**halfamoon**](http://halfamoon.livejournal.com/) 2012  
>  Recipient: [](http://shatterpath.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**shatterpath**](http://shatterpath.dreamwidth.org/)  
>  Summary: Who the hell needs Linda Hamilton when I have this?  
> Spoilers: Total AU for both shows where Sofia ends up in New York after "disappearing" from Las Vegas.  
> Warnings: No standard warnings apply.  
> Website: ShatterStorm Productions – Frisked & Conquered  
> Link to: <http://f-n-c.shatterstorm.net/>  
> Archive: ShatterStorm Productions only…all others ask for permission & we'll see…
> 
> Author’s Disclaimer: "CSI: Crime Scene Investigators," "CSI: New York," the characters, and situations depicted are the property of Jerry Bruckheimer Television, Alliance Atlantis, and CBS Productions. This piece of fan fiction was created for entertainment not monetary purposes. Previously unrecognized characters and places, and this story, are copyrighted to the author. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. This site is in no way affiliated with "CSI: Crime Scene Investigators," "CSI: New York," CBS, or any representatives of the actors.
> 
> Author’s Notes: I find it absolutely amusing that I first wrote about this couple for [](http://shatterpath.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**shatterpath**](http://shatterpath.dreamwidth.org/) for [](http://halfamoon.livejournal.com/profile)[**halfamoon**](http://halfamoon.livejournal.com/) 2010, and here I am writing for them again. I really do love the idea of exploring this couple, and clearly haven't done enough of it yet. Guess it's time to rectify that, eh? I know [](http://shatterpath.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**shatterpath**](http://shatterpath.dreamwidth.org/) would certainly be happy if I did…
> 
> Dedication: My muses, as always…
> 
> Beta: Not currently beta'd, which means all mistakes are mine. I reserve the right to futz with this down the line when I get someone to do a beta on it.

The ostensibly faint metallic thunk is the only signal of what's to come. Muscles tense in preparation as my eyes stare down the barrel of that gun. With a thunderous crack, it's launched directly at my face. Body goes into auto-pilot to combat the attack, and the impact reverberates up my arms and into my chest.

"Damn it, Sofia!"

I grin broadly, but don't turn to face her. Instead, my body coils back down into its defensive position in preparation for the next attack. I am not going to lose, no matter what it takes. She can throw anything she wants at me right now, but I won't lose.

Oh, I can picture the look on her face, too. Those gorgeous eyes are narrowed and staring at me hard enough to be a physical touch against my back. The little lines of frustration are coming out between her bunched up brows, in the crow's feet just starting to frame her eyes, and in the grooves around her mouth usually reserved for her brilliant smiles and laughter. Her lips are pursed, practically kissable right now.

Her arms are crossed over an ample chest that I have adored using as a pillow on more than one occasion. Her t-shirt is clinging to her sweat-dampened skin in all the right places. The backs of her forearms have begun to caramelize in the late spring sun. All of her exposed skin has been doing that for the last two weeks of unseasonably lovely spring weather in the Big Apple. The muscles of her legs under the shorts she's wearing are toning up nicely again after a long and brutal winter that kept her from doing much outdoors. And her favorite indoor calisthenics, while exceedingly fun, weren't always enough to quell the cabin fever she was plagued with this winter.

Which is how she talked me into doing this today. I'd have been happier indulging other activities at home, but she pursed her lips and gave me those disgustingly adorable puppy eyes of hers -- complete with the long, fluttering eyelashes -- and I was unable to resist. The promise in her eyes of my reward for indulging her clinched the deal.

*thunk*

*crash*

Fuck. That was the last one.

"Ahaha! I won!" she crows.

The gate opens and she bounds into the batting cage to wrap her arms around my neck with a delighted laugh. Without hesitation, I drop the bat to grip her hips lightly, holding her close. The soft whiff of her perfume mingles with the unmistakable scent I know so intimately as hers. Her bright smile is infectious and I chuckle softly.

"Yes, you did," I finally say. "Which means you get to choose what we do for the rest of the day."

She looks at me for a long moment, and I can see several emotions flit across her expressive eyes. And then her eyes light up again. "How about this? A stroll through the farmer's market to get stuff for dinner, then we have a _Terminator_ marathon tonight, complete with popcorn and snuggling. Does that work for you?"

My own grin spreads. "Do you really want to do that, babe? Or are you just being nice so I don't sulk for losing?"

"I'm giving you free rein to drool over Linda Hamilton. What do you think, Curtis?"

We both laugh at that, and I press a quick kiss to her lips before leaning over to pick up my bat. I gesture for her to head out of the batting cage first, which gives me the opportunity to watch the lazy, seductive way of her hips as she walks away.

Who the hell needs Linda Hamilton when I have this?


End file.
